A Chronic Problem
by StrawberryFields4EverAndAlways
Summary: Wilson promised himself he wouldn't start any more doomed relationships. However, it happens.  Told in alternating sections of second person narration and straight dialogue. Wilson/OC. Rated for adult content. Takes place sometime in Season 8, methinks.


Disclaimer: I obviously don't own House. If I did, this wouldn't be the last season, now would it?

%%%

I promised myself I wouldn't do this again.

I promised myself I wouldn't get into a relationship that was doomed from the start.

Again.

But I did.

I hadn't treated you before I had to give you the bad news.

You were Dr. Fitzgerald's patient, and would be for the duration of it all.

But Dr. Fitzgerald was sick that day.

You were small, pale, and perched on the table when I came in.

According to the file I'd received, you were twenty years old. You were so young.

I smiled and introduced myself as Dr. Wilson.

You returned the smile and introduced yourself as Kristen Tate.

You had a beautiful smile.

I inwardly cursed at myself for thinking that.

But I had a job to do. I opened the folder and told you.

Lung cancer. Small-cell lung carcinoma, also known as "oat cell carcinoma."

You'd smoked like a chimney since you were fifteen years old.

Your chances were decent but your future was ultimately unclear.

You looked at me strangely, rather disbelieving.

And then you cried.

I was used to this, much too used to this.

I reached across the space between us.

I held your hand, stroked it with my thumb.

When you may be dying, it's nice to not be alone.

%%%

*door opens and shuts*

"So what's this I hear about you and a cancer kid?"

"Hello works, too, House."

"Answer the question." *flops down on couch, drums fingers on cane handle*

*exasperated sigh* She's a patient.

"A cute one."

"…Yes."

"You want to have sex with her."

"House…"

"You're evading. You're all fidgety."

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Better than getting to the bottom of your masochistic cradle-robbing? Nope."

"House, I haven't done anything."

"But you want to."

*silent fuming*

"One of two things can happen here. One, she could tragically die and I'll have to deal with Sad-Puppy Wilson…again. Two, she lives and becomes Ex-Mrs. Wilson #4."

*pager goes off* "I have to go. Feel free to imagine all you want, House."

"I don't think I'll have to."

%%%

You weren't my patient, but I visited you anyway.

You didn't have many friends.

You needed one.

You really tried not to be miserable, though everything that was happening, of course, got to you at times.

You said, "Just in case I'm dying, I've got to do all the living I can, right?"

If you only had a little more time to work with instead of decades, you had to make the most of it.

Chemo and radiation both wore you out really bad. Among other symptoms, your hair began to fall out in large clumps.

When I came in to check on you one day, you asked for my help with something.

You needed help shaving what was left of your hair off.

But before going completely bald, you wanted a mohawk, just for a few minutes.

"I've never done anything really crazy. Might as well start."

I did what you asked.

You laughed at your reflection in the mirror a bit.

You started to wheeze and leaned on me for support.

I quietly reminded you to use your oxygen.

You nodded silently and then asked me to finish the job.

And then you were bald.

"God, I look ugly."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do," you insisted.

You and I went back and forth like this for a little bit.

And then I turned you around and kissed you.

Gently.

Softly.

And much to my surprise, you kissed me back.

Not believing what I'd just done, I stumbled backward.

I apologized profusely and practically ran from your room, blushing.

%%%

*runs into office*

"Need I say 'I told you so?'"

*jumps* "Good God, House. Scared the hell out of me. …What are you doing?"

*shrugs* "Hiding from Foreman. Duh."

"I meant with my computer."

"Oh, this? Nothing much."

"House!"

"What?"

"This is my work computer. You are downloading porn on my work computer."

"Consider it a get-over-cancer-girl present."

"Why do you care?"

"Because I don't want to have to deal with what you were like after Cutthroat Bitch died."

"I wish you wouldn't call her that."

"…Soooooo…What did you do?"

"Who said I did anything?"

"Your face."

"Am I blushing?"

"Yup."

*flops down on couch* "Okay, fine. I kissed her."

"Tongue?"

"What are you, twelve?"

"If I was twelve, I wouldn't be much younger than her."

"I don't get how you can go after young girls all the time and it's okay, and when I do it, it's crazy."

"Because it's just weird when it's you. You're more boring than I am."

"Not true."

"True."

"Not true."

"You're shorter than me."

"And that should not even count as an argument."

%%%

I avoided you.

For months, actually.

But all the while, I couldn't keep my mind off you.

Then out of the blue, Chase came up to me one day and said,

"I heard that one of the patients, Kristen Tate, has been asking for you."

I was surprised. I really was.

You should have been reporting me to Foreman, not asking for me.

Curious, I went to your room.

The moment the door shut behind me,

"Like I said, I've never done anything really crazy."

And you were kissing me.

My heart leapt a mile in my chest and I kissed you back.

Then you stepped back, smiling and biting your lip.

"Dr. Wilson, would you like to meet my parents?"

After seeing how they were looking at me, no, I did not want to meet your parents.

I'm pretty sure your dad, who was sitting in a chair with his arms crossed, wanted my head mounted on his wall.

But I smiled a little sheepishly at them. "Yeah. Um…hi. I'm Dr. James Wilson and I'm not the one who's treating your daughter."

You looked a little nervous for me.

Your mom put on a fake-looking smile.

"How old are you, Dr. Wilson?"

"42."

Your dad said, "That's funny, so am I."

His tone of voice expressed a desire to eat my soul for breakfast.

I gulped involuntarily.

Then I thought, pull yourself together, Wilson. You're being a coward.

So I said, "Age difference aside, I love your daughter."

Your cheeks got pink and you leaned on me, your hand in mine.

Your mother looked about to have a stroke.

"This is entirely unethical and inappropriate as well. You're old enough to be her father."

I couldn't help but laugh. "If you think I'm bad, you should meet my friend, Dr. House. He wrote the book on 'unethical' and 'inappropriate'."

%%%

"…and oh God, her parents are going to kill me."

"You actually said that?"

"…Yes, yes I did." *groans*

"You know what I think you should do?"

"Forget about Kristen in order to save you the trouble of having to deal with me once my heart is inevitably broken in one way or another? No, House, I'm not doing that."

"Why not?"

"Because…because I love her."

*silence*

*silence*

"If you love her so much, you can be the one to tell her she's going to die when that time comes. Not if. When."

"But I don't think she'll die of this. She's nearly well enough to leave the hospital and will be doing just that very soon."

"Wilson, I think you know that dying is just one of those things that people do."

"I don't need to be reminded. I know that very well, thanks."

%%%

Seeing you re-enter the world outside Princeton Plainsboro was simply amazing.

All the little things in life seem better when you think you may never see them again.

The first night out, we saw a movie.

However, I couldn't tell you what we saw.

You might recall that we were making out like teenagers in the back of the theater.

Afterwards, you took me back to your apartment.

You led me to your bedroom.

You turned the photo of your parents face down on the bedside table.

%%%

"Impressive dark circles under your eyes, Dr. Wilson. Long night?"

"No." *yawns*

"Sex?"

"None of your business."

"Was it any good?"

"…Excellent."

%%%

You hadn't been out of the hospital for even six months when you took a turn for the worst.

And shortly after that, I had to tell you what we'd both been dreading.

I sat on the edge of your bed, as always.

You looked at me strangely, confused by my grim expression.

You were wasting away and your eyes looked huge in your shrunken face.

I reached for your hand and said it.

"Kristen, we got it under control before, but you've relapsed. And it has very quickly metastasized throughout your thoracic cavity, unfortunately. I'm sorry, Kristen, but you're dying."

"There's nothing you or the other doctors can do? James, there's always something…Isn't there?"

It killed me to shake my head. "No, not this time. It won't respond to treatment."

You started to cry. "But you promised me I'd be okay. You promised."

I was angry.

I was angry at myself for being helpless, mostly.

"I never promised that, Amber!"

You were confused. "Amber?"

I was just mumbling at this point. "Past girlfriend. Killed in a bus accident. Sorry."

You leaned back on your pillows. "Just go. Just leave me alone for a while. Please. I need to think."

%%%

I was with you when you died.

Your parents had been out of town (God knows why).

If I hadn't been there, you would have been alone.

Nobody should be alone when this happens.

I sat beside you, holding your hand.

We were both silent.

What can be said in times like these?

Then you murmured, "Thank you, James."

Every word was a small effort.

But why thank me?

I'd failed.

"Thank you…for everything. You know…I…hadn't been in love before. Ever. There's…a lot I won't be able to do with my life…but…at least I had this. Well, not this."

You gestured weakly around at the hospital in general.

"This sucked. Being sick sucked. But you…you were great."

I nodded and we were silent again.

Sometime later- I couldn't tell you if it was minutes or hours- you whispered, "I love you, James."

This was it.

This was the end.

"I love you too, Kristen."

You exhaled.

There was finality in that exhalation.

Absolute finality.

"Wilson, I think you know that dying is just one of those things that people do."

But it hurts, House. It hurts like hell.

%%%

*collapses into desk chair, trying not to cry* "She's dead."

*silence*

"Really? Nothing?"

*silence*

"No 'I told you so'? No tactless jokes?"

*silence*

"You really don't have anything to say?"

*silence*

*silence*

"I'm…sorry about your girlfriend, Wilson. That really sucks."

"…Thanks, House."


End file.
